


You

by spacestationtrustfund



Series: You’re My Best Friend [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles thought after the nogitsune, he would never be able to trust himself again. And surely his friends—especially Scott—wouldn't be able to either. But slowly, as time goes on, Scott and Stiles learn how to grow back together. Maybe even closer than they were before.</p><p>Or: Scott takes Stiles out to dinner because he thinks they haven't been talking enough, and Stiles talks too much and Scott not enough.</p><p>Set sometime after the nogitsune happened, with little regard for the original plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: general bad decision-making, vague references to panic attacks, shitty closure.

Scott picks a table, near to the door (so he can run away, when things get too awkward, Stiles thinks optimistically), and sits down carefully, as though he doesn’t want to touch the tablecloth. Stiles considers trying for elegance, but instead plops down in the chair across from Scott in his usual manner, disregarding the suspicious looks from the other people in the restaurant. It hits Stiles that these people probably think that he and Scott are a gay couple. And weirdly enough, he doesn’t mind.

The tablecloth, however — that’s some serious white, Stiles observes casually, so white it makes Scott look especially not-pale, and Stiles wonders if he looks pale or not. A man gives him the death glare, and Stiles restrains himself from sticking out his tongue in the guy’s general direction.

Stiles is just considering taking Scott’s hand to shock the old lady glaring at them from three tables away when Scott clears his throat. _Here it comes_ , Stiles thinks, resigned, because there was no way Scott would take him to a fancy restaurant for no reason. All the explanation he was offered was in the invite — “hey stiles meet me at 6 im gonna take us some place dont argue 4once” — and even that was ambiguous (SAT word, he thinks proudly) — even for Scott.

“I bet you’re wondering why I,” Scott begins, but Stiles refuses to let him finish—hey, he’s Scott’s best friend, and he’s Stiles Stilinski, and it’s a well-known fact that when Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall are talking, the former must interrupt the latter (frequently).

“Is this a pity-poor-Stiles-because-he-has-no-life arrangement or a Kira-dumped-me-and-I’m-sad-and-need-some-Stiles-time arrangement or a hey-let’s-celebrate-something-Stiles-doesn’t-know-about arrangement or is it someone’s birthday or — ”

For once, Scott stops him. “Stiles. I don’t even know what you — no. No. No, it is not.”

“Is not what? I mentioned a lot of arrangements. Do you need me to repeat them? I could do that. Is this a pity-poor-Stiles-because-he-has-no-life ar — ”

“Stiles!” Scott raises his voice only slightly, but it’s enough to get several more glares from the people around them. “Stop — talking for a moment, okay?”

Something in his tone stops Stiles at once. Uh-oh, he thinks, time to turn on the best-friend sympathy.

“You were kinda right,” admits Scott, poking the white napkin with his fork, which is way too shiny to be normal. (Seriously, do they shine that thing with Jackson’s shirts or something? wonders Stiles absently. Only then could utensils remain that clean.) “It’s kind of about Kira — but mostly I wanted to hang out with you, since we haven’t had much time to since the . . .”

 _Nogitsune_ , Stiles thinks. _After I tried to kill you. After everything went wrong_. “Yeah, I know that. Partly ’cause you were avoiding me.”

Scott looks hurt, and it’s cute. Stiles doesn’t mean it _that_ way, of course — maybe. But really, he’s been best friends with Scott for years. He knows Scott is cute. How else would Scott have attractive girls all over him (except Kira, now, of course) while Stiles is alone? He tries not to feel too sorry for himself, but hey — why not? It isn’t like Stiles has many other options. Pity is his _thing_ , like being an asshole is to Jackson, or grumpiness is to Derek.

“I’m not avoiding you,” says Scott, “but I do think . . . I mean, stuff’s different now. I don’t think it’ll ever really go back to normal.”

“No,” says Stiles wryly, “I don’t think things will ever go back to normal. We could try, but I really think you have to accept things for who they are, and not try to change them, because changing someone you’re in a relationship with isn’t healthy — ”

“Stiles — ”

“And all that stuff we said — yeah, and I mean, I did mean it when I called you my brother, so if you’re gonna call me a dork, well,  _don’t_ , and — ”

“Excuse me?” says an unfamiliar voice, and Stiles looks up to see a very pretty girl standing next to their table. For a moment Stiles wonders why she’s here, then he notices the clipboard in her hand and the outfit, and realises she must be the waitress. “Are you two gentlemen ready to order?”

Scott taps his finger on the table, which is still so fancy Stiles thinks a cloth like that doesn’t belong in Beacon Hills. “Could you give us a moment?” asks Scott, and he smiles at her, and she blushes.

“Absolutely. I’m Lacey, by the way,” the girl says, leaning over slightly so that Scott and Stiles are treated to a glimpse of more skin than Stiles thinks appropriate for such a restaurant. Lacey winks at Scott, then hurries away without anything more than a cursory glance at Stiles.  _Of course_ it goes that way — girls love Scott. People don’t love Stiles. Except Derek, but sourwolf doesn’t count either.

“What I meant to say,” says Scott again, “is that I need you too. Stiles, you’re my best friend and that means something. So even if I break up with Kira, even if you’re possessed by an evil Japanese demon, even if — I don’t know. But you’re pack, no matter what Derek says.”

“Derek’s just jealous of my awesome hair,” says Stiles with an attempt at flippancy that even he finds lame.

“You look much better now that it’s not a freakin’ buzz cut,” replies Scott, then blushes a little. “Dude. Are you ready to order?”

Stiles accepts the menu without a word and glances through it — not much he’d want, but there’s a sandwich part, and he doesn’t mind that. “Yeah, sure. Call the chick over,” he says, trying not to show any resentment. Scott does just that, and Lacey walks back over moving her hips in a sexier way than before, obviously confident and charming and cute, and Stiles has little patience for girls like that (except Lydia, but that’s a different story, and Stiles wants to pretend that part of his life didn’t happen — his one relationship, in the tank so soon). But Scott doesn’t look at Lacey for very long before he turns back to Stiles, and Stiles is grateful for that.  _Bros before hos_ , he thinks, and has to choke back a laugh. Has he gone  _stupid_ ? 

“So what do you want?” asks Scott, as the waitress looks at the pair of them with a confused look, as though she can’t decide whether or not they’re a couple yet. And Stiles is in the mood to use that handy little death wish he picked up even before Derek Hale came to town, and so he looks over at Scott, who’s looking back at him with that adorable little smirk on his face, waiting for Stiles to order something, and Stiles blurts out, “You.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Looking back (which Stiles tries not to do, due to the embarrassment) on the moment, Stiles thinks of a thousand other things he should’ve said. He should’ve said “I’ll have a sandwich” or something. He should’ve said “You can pick.” He should _not_ have tried to proposition his best friend, even as a joke, because Scott knows him well enough to know that it was not a joke.

Stiles tries to back up, and work around it, because after all — what else could he do? “Hey, man,” he laughs at the look Scott now has on his face (shocked and confused), “it was a joke. Come on, that one was too good to resist. I think I’m gonna go for a sandwich,” but Scott shakes his head and frowns.

“Sandwich for Stiles, and I’ll take a salad,” Scott tells Lacey, who smiles flirtatiously and leaves with a final wave.

“Dieting?” asks Stiles incredulously. “Since when does Scott McCall eat salad?”

“Since now,” replies Scott. Another waitress, who’s decidedly less hot, arrives in a few moments with the food, and they eat in silence. The sandwich is good, but for some weird reason that Stiles doesn’t want to think about, he can’t focus on his food (which is definitely a first). All he can think of is the blush on Scott’s face when Stiles said “you” instead of “sandwich.”

“People think we’re a couple on a date,” says Stiles finally, after he’s finished his food and has no excuse not to talk any more.

“No surprise,” replies Scott, raising one eyebrow. “You look gay when you wear plaid, Stilinski.”

“So I look gay all the time? Is that what you’re saying, McCall?”

“Yes,” says Scott smugly, eating his salad.

“Hey,” says Stiles, struck by a sudden thought, “do wolves even eat salad? Would Derek eat a salad? I don’t think carnivores eat greens much.”

“We can eat salad,” confirms Scott. “But we don’t have to like it. You could eat dirt if you wanted to, right?”

“I have, actually. You told me to,” replies Stiles.

“No, I said  _not_ to eat dirt. You said you could do whatever you wanted to. I told you that it could make you sick, and you said ‘Shut up, McCall,’ and then you ate dirt and I spent all of third period helping you wash out your mouth.”

“That was a long time ago,” protests Stiles, but he smiles because it reminds him of being with Scott, without all the problems that they now have to face.

“That was last year,” retorts Scott. He finishes his salad and sighs. “Stiles . . . I’m sorry about you and Lydia.”

“Don’t be,” says Stiles. “She’s crazy. What girl wouldn’t want to date me?” He gestures to himself. “I mean, look at me. Am I not unbearably sexy?”

“Very,” says Scott dryly. He begins to pull out his wallet. “I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to — okay. And I’m sorry about Kira.”

“Me too,” says Scott quietly. “But I guess it’s okay. Besides, it isn’t as if she’s the only person in the school who isn’t straight. Well, she said she was bi. But still. There’s Danny and all.”

“Don’t remind me,” Stiles manages to say, but he’s noticing how Scott bends his head forward and lets his gaze fall on the table. Something is wrong, but Stiles has never been one to mess with other people’s businesses — well, not most of the time.

Lacey comes back and Scott, true to his word, pays the bill. They walk in silence out of the restaurant, and towards the police station. Scott hesitates outside the door. “You know, if you ever need to talk about any of the stuff that happened . . . I’m still here.”

“I’m here too,” Stiles replies, then turns around and goes inside the building before he does something stupid like cry.

 

The next day, Derek picks him up from school. Stiles doesn’t mind, because being taken home in a police car doesn’t exactly do wonders for his social life.

Derek is polite but not friendly, staring ahead with that grumpy wolf expression that Stiles thinks is so funny, and it’s all he can do not to laugh or make some sarcastic comment. After all, he is Stiles Stilinski.

When they arrive at Scott’s house, Scott is already waiting for them. Derek looks awkward, but Stiles grabs him by the arm (too late to turn back now, Stilinski, he thinks ruefully) and drags the alpha into the house. Well, he doesn’t really drag him — Stiles is fully aware that he would never be able to drag Derek Hale anywhere Derek Hale doesn’t want to be dragged.

Scott ignores the pair of them and spreads out papers on the table. “Stiles and I have homework to do, Derek,” he says, with an edge to his voice, “so unless you’re planning on helping, I don’t think you need to be here.”

Stiles winces.  _Ouch._ Scott is such a grumpywolf, sometimes. Which is odd because he used to respect Derek — well, everyone was kind of scared of Derek, but Scott respected him once he found out about werewolves and all that. Stiles was still scared of him. He still is, when Derek isn’t in a good mood. Thankfully, he’s on their side. Mostly.

Derek raises his eyebrows and mutters something Stiles can’t quite comprehend, his voice low enough that it’s obvious it was only meant for Scott, who scowls until Derek eventually rolls his eyes (and they’re may be hope for him yet, Stiles thinks) and leaves, shutting the door behind him with a sound that seems louder than it probably should be.

“Chem?” asks Stiles, and Scott nods.

“Let’s get started then,” replies Scott, pushing a sheet of paper towards Stiles.

“Oh man — that’s what she said,” quips Stiles, because it’s too good to pass up.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Scott sighs.

“That’s what she said,” says Stiles again, barely containing the quiver of hilarity in his voice. “This is too easy, Scotty. I know that didn’t make sense. Whatever! Okay, okay. Chem work. Right. Wha — polymers?”

It takes them several hours of reviewing chemistry notes and working on Scott’s projects before Scott is satisfied. He offers to have Melissa drive Stiles home, but Stiles shakes his head. “Derek said he’d drive me,” he says, and Scott sighs heavily, raising his eyebrows and looking up at the ceiling.

“Stiles, is it — is it a possibility that you have — kind of a —  _thing_ for Derek?” asks Scott in a rush, not looking at Stiles, but instead training his gaze on the ceiling. Which is a very nice ceiling, now that Stiles gets a look at it. He can’t believe he’s never noticed the ceiling of the McCalls’ house before. It has a neat pattern, and it’s higher than the one in his house, and Scott asked him a question and Stiles has to answer it —

“A — Derek? No, that would be — no, I just —  _Derek_ ?!” he stammers, blushing, but it isn’t because he secretly likes Derek (what?) or anything like that. Stiles like girls. Definitely. He likes Lydia. A lot. But he — no. He likes Lydia. Well, he  _liked_ Lydia. And now he’s a free agent, because she dumped him, and no one loves him. Self pity — Stiles is great at self pity, if nothing else.

Scott bursts out laughing, looking so much like the old Scott that it hurts Stiles somewhere deep in his chest, and he knows Scott can probably tell, but he missed that version of Scott. Did Scott miss the other version of Stiles — the one that wasn’t possessed by an evil Japanese demon? Of course he did — right?

“I don’t like Derek,” Stiles is finally able to say. “I mean — why  _would_ I like sourwolf? Ugh. If I had to crush on a guy, it would probably be you, McCall.”

“Danny?” suggests Scott innocently.

“Shut up,” snaps Stiles. “He offered to sex me,  _once_ , but he was joking, and besides, that doesn’t mean I like him.”

Scott laughs again, the laughter transforming his face into someone you’d want to be around, and Stiles can (unfortunately) see why girls like Scott so much. He’s — well, if Stiles is going to admit it — he’s attractive. A little. And maybe Stiles once told him he was a hot girl, and maybe Scott can pull of most looks better than some, and maybe  _he’s_ attractive to gay guys (unlike Stiles, who is totally not dwelling on that), but still — Stiles doesn’t have a crush on Scott. That would be stupid, right? There is no way that would happen.

Maybe.

Scott opens the door and they walk out; Derek is standing near his truck, waiting for Stiles. Scott raises his eyebrows at Stiles, who shoots him a “not a word, McCall” and begins the walk towards the car. Scott stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“What, don’t I get a good-by hug? What if I never see you again?”

Stiles hesitates, because if he really never did see Scott again — and he hopes that won’t be something that really happens — he wouldn’t be able to live, plain and simple. He  _needs_ Scott. “Yeah, okay,” he says ungraciously, and opens his arms. “Wolf hug.”

Scott scoffs at that, but he hugs Stiles tightly. “See you tomorrow at school.”

“Study after?” asks Stiles, and Scott nods, his chin on Stiles’s shoulder, his cheek pressed against Stiles’s jaw. Stiles lets out a long, slow breath as he holds on to Scott. They’re back together. Scott is okay, Derek is okay, Lydia is okay, Kira is okay, and Stiles himself is okay. And besides, almost killing your friends—all in a day’s work, when your day involves werewolves.

“You’re still my best friend,” Scott reassures him. “And really, now that I’m not taken — if I had one person I had to be with forever, you know who that would be?”

“Who?” asks Stiles, although he knows the answer, and Scott seems to be both smiling and crying as he whispers, “You.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter! I was trying not to put in much plot twists, since this kind of does follow the actual show's plot (kind of. emphasis on kind of) and since I want to be kind to my babies :D
> 
> Stiles is figuring stuff out, hurrah. Poor guy -- the Nogitsune was a pretty awful thing to have to go through. Expect a lot of hugs and pack feels, although for now the cast will mostly be those two (and Derek! we mustn't forget sourwolf).
> 
> x Mochi


	3. Chapter 3

It hurts, for Stiles to remember, so he tries not to. But he can’t ignore the fact that he feels like he’s hanging on the edge of a panic attack, like one moment will suddenly go wrong and the whole façade of calm he’s been working so hard to keep together will burst apart, and Stiles will be thrown along with it.

He and Scott do study the next day, as promised, and although Stiles doesn’t feel like they get anything done, it calms him to be around Scott, another living human being (well, werewolf, but it’s all the same thing when it comes down to flesh and blood) who can understand. Scott understands everything Stiles wants to say, even when he doesn’t say it. Stiles can never acknowledge that fact enough.

Everything stays safe, with no talking about anything that isn’t remotely related to school, until after, when Stiles is waiting for Derek to pick him up and Scott is planning on walking home because he “needs to be alone for a while” (Stiles doesn’t say anything about it hurting, because he’s a good friend, and he has to let Scott work his own things out) even thought Stiles offered to make Derek drive him too.

The two of them are standing outside the school, looking at each other, with a million things they want to say and no words to say them, until Scott sighs and looks away from Stiles, over to where Derek is leaning against a wall with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. “Why aren’t you talking to bae?” he says, trying not to sound jealous and failing miserably.

Stiles grins and grabs Scott by the hand before Scott can realise what’s going on. “I am,” he says hastily, because flirting has never been his thing, “I’m talking to you.”

“Shut up, Stilinski,” Scott mumbles, pulling his hand away, clearly not in the mood. But Stiles can see a hint of a blush on Scott’s face, and for the moment, that’s enough for him to be happy. “I have to go, but I’ll call you later, okay?” He doesn’t look at Stiles, but steps off the curb, shouldering his bag as he does.

Stiles sighs and starts towards Derek, trying to relax, because the last thing he needs is for sourwolf to notice something’s off. He’s ninety-nine percent confident Derek knows more than he’s letting on, but the alpha says nothing during the drive to Stiles’s house. Stiles thanks him, and, because he can’t resist, adds several sarcastic comments (after all, he has a reputation to maintain). Derek huffs grudgingly, but Stiles isn’t scared of him. Not any more. The only thing he’s really scared of is himself.

His dad is in the kitchen when Stiles comes in, looking over a police report, or something of the like. Stiles drops his bag on a chair and starts looking for food in the fridge.

“There’s leftover pizza, on the top shelf,” says Sheriff Stilinski, without looking up from the papers spread across the table. Stiles pulls out the container of pizza and sits down across from his dad.

“Hey, dad,” he says, “I’m really tired, so I’m going to go to bed early, so don’t worry about me — okay?”

The sheriff scoffs at this, but doesn’t raise his eyes from his papers. “I worry about you all the time, son. You are somewhat of a person who induces worry.”

“Fair enough,” concedes Stiles, holding up the hand which does not contain the pizza. “But I mean like, no wer — um —  _people_ crawling through my window. No one’s gonna die, in any way relating to me. Scott may call later, but I don’t think that’s dangerous.”

“McCall and you combined are indeed dangerous,” Sheriff Stilinski says. “But it’s a relief to know that you’re at least attempting to be responsible.”

“Yeah, well, I’m responsible,” says Stiles through a mouthful of food. “And safe.” Well, mostly because Scott is the more level-headed one of their friendship. But Stiles isn’t that reckless — most of the time — not any more, at least.

Sheriff Stilinski looks up at Stiles now. “You have improved a lot, Stiles, as you’ve gotten older, and I’m proud of you.”

“So can I stay out late at Derek’s again?” asks Stiles hopefully.

“No,” his father says decisively. “No Derek Hale.”

Stiles frowns. “But I can keep Scott, right?”

“Yes, you can keep Scott,” says Sheriff Stilinski in a resigned sort of way. Stiles grins and pulls out his phone immediately to text Scott — “my dad says i can keep u” — and finishes the slice of pizza with a satisfied air.

Scott texts back almost at once: “good. i worried 4 a moment. i’ll still call u.”

Stiles responds with an affirmative, then shuts off his phone. “Hey, what’re you working on? Some sort of new case?”

“Yes, well,” says the sheriff, “Deputy Parrish is out for the week, so I’m in charge of all her reports.”

“Is it a murder this time?” asks Stiles, trying to read what’s written on the papers. Sheriff Stilinski covers them with his hand.

“Stiles, I’m sorry, but this isn’t for you to look at — especially not now. You mentioned you were going to go to bed?”

“Yeah,” mumbles Stiles, and he closes the container of pizza and replaces it in the fridge. “I guess I will.” He walks over to the stairs, and puts his hand on the wood of the railing. “Hey, dad?”

“What is it?” calls Sheriff Stilinski.

“I love you, you know that right?” says Stiles. The memory of the Nogitsune is still fresh in his mind. He still can’t look at his friends without thinking of how he nearly killed them. If they hadn’t been able to stop it . . . Stiles doesn’t know what would have happened, and he has absolutely no desire to be enlightened.

He can hear the smile in his dad’s voice. “I love you, too, Stiles. Now go to bed.”

Stiles nods even though the sheriff can’t see him; he walks up the stairs and into his room. He stands in front of the window. It’s closed, and looking through the glass into the darkness reminds Stiles of the times Derek has come in through that window. _Cousin_ _Miguel_ , he thinks, remembering those days with a conflicting mix of sadness and nostalgia (which is another SAT word, he’s sure). Stiles steps away from the window and sets his phone on the dresser as he sits down on his bed. He and Scott have sat together here so many times before. As if called on by the thought, his phone rings.

Stiles picks up the phone and considers not answering — after the whirlwind of emotions that has been the past day or two, he isn’t sure that he wants to talk to Scott. And after all, Scott said he would call — Stiles never said a thing about answering that call.

But he does want to talk to Scott, actually; because Scott is his best friend, and Scott knows. Scott knows all the things Stiles doesn’t want to say, or doesn’t know how to say. Scott is smart that way, and he’s a good friend, even if he’s an annoying werewolf who’s too likeable and makes Stiles feel unloved.

He hits answer on his phone and holds it to his ear, cradling the device against his cheek. “You have reached the phone of Stiles Stilinski,” he says in an official voice, “and you have also reached Stiles Stilinski. Sourwolf, _call back_. Liam, _no_. Danny, _I didn’t mean it_. Jackson, _leave me alone_. Lydia, _I don’t know_. Scott, _hi_.”

“Hey,” Scott says, and Stiles can hear the exhaustion even through the phone, and a rush of affection goes through him that no matter how tired Scott is, he would call Stiles just like he promised, “what are you doing?”

And it takes all of the willpower Stiles has gathered not to say “You.”

 


End file.
